Coquette
by Angeleyez
Summary: “I’m not happy.” She didn’t know how to be subtle about this. He worked his jaw, grinded his teeth. “I can see that.” RL


**Title**: Coquette

**Author**: Angeleyez

**Disclaimer**: Uh, yeah. I don't own.

**Summary**: "I'm not happy." She didn't know how to be subtle about this. He worked his jaw, grinded his teeth. "I can see that." (RL)

He liked to kiss her in public.

They weren't exclusive (he liked that word, exclusive, like the two of them were a marketable product) but that fact never occurred to him when they were together. He liked to touch her as much as he could no matter the audience.

She wasn't used to that. It made her nervous and self-conscious as if everyone was watching her. Logan told her that that was called the Spotlight Effect and she needed to stop being so self-absorbed. Coming from a guy like him, the comment was rather funny.

She told him so. He laughed.

x

One night after sex, she lay in his bed and stared up at the ceiling, thinking this was the perfect time for a cigarette. She had never smoked before. Of course, before now, she had never been an advocate for casual sex.

She felt his eyes on her, sweeping over the parts of her body not hidden by the sheets. Languidly, he combed his fingers through her hair, his parted lips resting on her shoulder. He smelled of champagne, sweat, and dozens of other girls.

"You're good at this," Rory whispered, her eyes following the cracks in the paint.

"Good at what?"

"Making me feel like I'm the only one."

x

It was ridiculous. The way she felt around him.

She was flustered and dizzy. She had no grace. When she first met him, she could carry a debate and insult his Backstreet looks and blithe lifestyle. Now she was some silly lovestruck girl that laughed at every joke.

It made her sick.

x

"Are you using me?" she asked. She was in his bed again, watching him dress in last night's clothes, admiring the flex of muscle in his back. He was handsome, but not hers. She shouldn't be allowed to look.

He paused. "What?"

"Nothing," she mumbled, burying her face in his pillow.

He nodded and pretended that he didn't hear the question. "I'll be back after class. Feel free to stay."

That was code for get the fuck out, I have a date later. He had been raised on social conduct, propriety and avoidance and all that. He was being polite.

"Yeah, okay, thanks."

It was an hour before she found her clothes and left. She was always resistant to leave the warmth of his bed, afraid that it was for the last time.

x

His hand was familiar as it slid beneath her dress and up her thigh. Her neck throbbed from the funny angle caused by the stiff arm of the couch, but she was pinned underneath Logan's weight, unable to move.

"You okay, Ace?" He slipped off the strap of her dress and bit her shoulder.

"Mmhmm." With her eyes squeezed shut, she felt removed from the situation, like a bubble of lust. Slowly she floated away from him, free for the first time in months.

"Ace?" He nuzzled her neck. "Rory?"

"Shh," she quieted him, letting herself go.

x

"I hate you."

She pouted into the mirror, smoothed her hair. She said it again: "I hate you."

She tugged at the hem of her dress and fixed her heels; they were loose and slipped with each step.

"I hate you." She frowned, cocked her head to the side.

"Logan, I hate you."

She imagined his cocky smirk, the way he would wave off this confession as if she had complimented his eyes. "I do," she insisted quietly to her reflection. "I do."

x

He kissed her sweetly under the stars. This was Logan being romantic. He was good at it.

"I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" She sat in the grass, and leaned back on her elbows. "This whole night was a surprise; what else is there?"

He grinned and pulled out a jewelry box; long, thin, and velvet.

With a knit brow, she accepted the gift. Inside was a simple silver chain. A small heart studded with diamonds twirled in the wind as she lifted the necklace.

Her breath came slowly, slipping out in small bursts. "It's beautiful."

He knelt behind her and she whisked her hair to the side. He kissed the back of her neck, touching her delicately with his tongue.

"Mmm." She leaned back against his chest. He sealed the clasp and ran his fingers along the silver thread.

"You like it?" he asked.

"I love it."

x

He twirled her around the ballroom. He dipped her and she groaned, feeling inebriated.

"Too much champagne?" he asked, palms on her hips. He liked her dress; the fabric was soft, as soft as her skin.

"I think so." She laid her head on his shoulder. The room continued to spin, a whirlwind of money and status. She wanted to go home.

She said it aloud: "I want to go home."

"Yale home, or Stars Hollow home?"

"I don't want to be here anymore." She was close to tears; they gathered in the corner of her eyes.

"Come on." He grabbed her hand and led her outside where the valets sat in the driveway, smoking filtered cigarettes.

When Logan got his car, he drove her to Stars Hollow, patient with her strained words and trembling hands. With a hand on her back, he brought her inside and put her in bed; he kissed her forehead and smoothed the blankets as if tucking her in.

"You're being weird tonight," he told her.

"I know."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"You don't want to stay."

"How do you know?" he challenged. He kicked off his shoes and fit himself around her, an arm slung over her stomach. "I want to stay."

She turned over, effectively shedding his arm. "I'm tired."

He kissed her shoulder. He left after she fell asleep.

x

She's pretty, she wanted to say. What's her name? she wanted to ask.

The girl was model thin, like Rory. She had cropped blonde hair and green eyes. She wore pearl earrings that dangled; Rory watched Logan tweak them.

Rory thought the girl was prettier. She was probably better in bed. She wanted to ask, is she more experienced? Looser? Does she let you do things to her?

She probably didn't speak as much asRory did. She was probably smarter too; her conversation neat and intelligent, a pretty little package with a yellow bow.

Logan noticed her from across the room. His eyes widened as if caught. Then he waved.

She wanted to say, go to hell.

x

"I don't like the way you make me feel." There was no mirror. This time, there was only his face, stony and lost. He didn't know where this was coming from and he didn't know where it would lead. For once, she had the upper hand.

"How I make you feel?" he echoed.

"I don't want to be just another girl."

"To me?"

"In general." She scratched her calf, staring at her lap. She wore a skirt today, one he liked. He said it brought out her eyes. It was bullshit; it was the shortest skirt she owned.

"Rory…"

"I'm not happy." She didn't know how to be subtle about this.

He worked his jaw, grinded his teeth. "I can see that."

"You're hot and cold with me. One week, I'm all you need. The next, you're drifting and I see you with some other girl."

"We have an open relationship."

"Yeah, I guess that's the problem." She stood and gave him a sorrowful glance. "Do you remember when I told you I didn't want some committed relationship? I wasn't lying. I've had enough of that." She stared at his hunched over form; he was sulking in the corner. "But I don't want this."

"Then what do you want?" He ran a rough hand through his hair. "I don't know what to do here."

"You don't need me," she said. "If I'm gone, you have someone to fill my place."

He shook his head. "You're wrong."

"I don't need you either," she said. She heard hesitancy in her voice; something sad and nervous, heavy like tears. "So there's nothing left to say here."

x

He let her walk away. That night she lay in bed, wrapped tightly in her sheets, and she remembered his face when he let her walk away.

She took a breath. Everything was okay.

x

Three days later, he knocked on her door. She frowned when she saw it was him. He was dressed in a suit and he smelled nice. She thought he was on his way to pick up some girl, some other girl; she glared.

"Hey Ace."

"Don't do that," she warned. She knew how to be strong.

"Rory." He touched her cheek and she winced.

"I like you," she said. "A lot." She swallowed, ignoring the sour taste in her mouth. It was the flavor of jealously, regret, bitterness.

She said, "But you're not worth this."


End file.
